Crumbs of Faith
by LucyCrewe11
Summary: A woman with a demon-possessed daughter beseeches Jesus for help. One-shot. Written in honour of Nisian 14, which falls on today this year.


**AN: Hello, hello! It's that time of year again. That's right, Nisian 14 falls on today this year. And as I have for the past two years, I wanted to do a Bible-based one-shot about something to do with Jesus and post it on this day, as this _is_ the anniversary of his death and all. Last year, I did a story, you may recall, about the woman who Jesus cured from her flow of blood; this year, I thought I'd do one about a woman who's daughter Jesus cured from being demon possessed. In fact, the theme of demon possession is the only reason this story has a K plus rating and not just K. I've done this story from the POV of the demon-possessed girl's mother. And while I know this probably isn't the BEST thing I've ever written, I did work REALLY hard on it and do research for it and what-not. I even had to look up what it was like to be demon possessed (not exactly light and fluffy reading; it was downright _creepy_, is what it was). So, anywho, hope you all enjoy this fic! **

My hands shook as I kneaded the dough for the bread I was in the process of making. In another room, my little daughter was asleep. As this was fairly early in the morning, I had no idea how she would do today. Some days were worse than others, but as of late there hadn't been a single day, a full twenty-four hours, when she had peace.

You see, my daughter was unwell.

She wasn't sick, not physically anyway, though it frequently caused terrible ruin to her physical health as well. You see, she was badly demonized, plagued with possession.

This had been going on for a while and, honestly, I was at the end of my wits. There didn't seem to be much I could do; the demon inside of her was powerful and, sadly, intent on staying put.

I suppose he_ liked_ putting my poor girl through unspeakable trauma every day, never-minding that she was only a child.

"Mama?"

I turned, hearing the little voice, following by the patter of bare feet. Well,_ mostly_ bare; I noticed she had one sandal on, while the other foot had nothing.

"Good morning, sweetheart," I said softly. My voice had an edge of caution to it; I didn't want to hurt my own daughter's feelings, but often times there was no telling what state of mind she was in straight-off. The demon never let her alone long. One minute she might be almost normal-fine, really-then suddenly she would go insane.

She was almost smiling, so I thought she couldn't be in too much pain at the moment. Her dark little eyes seemed reasonably stable, save for the fact that they were full of over-exhaustion.

"Mama!" This time, her voice was agitated, her hand extended.

I didn't care about the demon ripping me to pieces, I only cared that my child was suffering. Instinctively, I reached out my own hand to take hers.

She screamed loudly and stopped speaking with intelligible sounds; now she was gurgling and shrieking, forming no real words. Even 'Mama' was now beyond her poor quivering mouth's ability.

The scary thing was, I wasn't even sure if she could see me. There had been times, you see, when the demon had made her blind.

She _could_ see, evidently, or at least sense, well enough to reach out and latch onto my still extended hand. Her fingers curled round my wrist, twisting hard. If it was only her, I could have pulled free, but being possessed gave her surges of superhuman strength.

After a few moments of my writhing and gritting my teeth (I was kneeling on the floor beside her by then, pulled down against my will), the demon inside her thrust my hand away, throwing me backwards against the wall.

I was sore, and for a second or two I thought my wrist was broken. It turned out, however, to be only badly bruised, nothing more.

My daughter collapsed finally, shaking. Then she was still, as if asleep or in a deep faint. Her body was temporarily limp, useless. Also, safe enough, perhaps, for me to approach.

The tears I had fought against when she clutched at my wrist spilled out then as I went over and picked her up, carrying her back to her bed and placing her down upon it.

Poor, poor child. Her breathing, even in this unconscious state was heavy.

I brushed a single curl away from her face with my fingers, swallowed back a sob, and left the room.

What I wanted then was to collapse into a chair and put my face in my hands; but I heard a noise at the door and knew someone must have come visiting.

Even with my daughter the way she was, I'd always prided myself on being hospitable, so I went towards the door, trying to mentally recall if I had enough clean water to wash the feet of my guest or anything to give them to eat. The bread was not made, the dough abandoned in favor of attending to my tormented child, but I thought I might have _something_ about, hoping it was not all stale.

My guest was a woman I knew, a neighbor. She was what I would have called a friend, if only she weren't so afraid to come by half the time. I couldn't blame her, nor did I grudge the fact that she never let her children play with my daughter (in her place, I know I would have done the same), but her constant pulling away, though it was from necessity and not hardheartedness, still hurt.

"Are you in?"

"Yes," I said.

She looked both ways as I held the door open to her. "Your daughter is..._asleep_?"

"Kind of," I replied.

She didn't press me further. "I can't stay long; I only wanted to tell you what I've just heard."

"What is it?" In spite of my exhaustion, I was genuinely interested. She wasn't the sort to spread mindless gossip; when she was going to tell me something she heard, I always knew it was important.

"They say Jesus is here, in Tyre, but does not wish it to be known."

I felt my back straighten up with determination. "This is true?"

"Yes," she assured me. "He was seen entering a house discreetly, by the back, so as not to be seen. The crowds will press him if they know he is there."

"He is a guest in this house?" I asked.

"Yes, certainly."

"You can give me the address?"

"Address! My dear, it's right around the corner."

My heart pounded; this was too good to be true. I would go to Jesus, who was said to be cure the sick and expel demons, and plead with my to make my daughter well again. He was a Jew, and I was not (I am a Grecian), but I had hopes he would take mercy on me regardless.

So it came about that I fled from my house, leaving my guest and daughter, and went to the house Jesus was said to have entered, for I was in a terrible fear that he should leave before I could speak with him.

As soon as I caught sight of him, I cried out, "Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David!"

He heard me and turned.

There was kindness in his face; I went on, "My daughter is badly demonized."

He looked at me, that kindness still there, but he did not say a word.

So I repeated myself.

One of his disciples whispered, rather too loudly, "Send her away; because she keeps crying out after us."

Jesus finally approached me. "I was not," he said, "sent forth to any but to the lost sheep of Israel."

"Lord," I sobbed, "help me!" I didn't see how I could possibly go back to my daughter and see her still demonized. Not after all this; not after the spark of hope and faith had been ignited in me. Surely I would not be able to endure it.

"First let the children be satisfied," he replied gently; "for it is not right to take the bread of the children and throw it to the little dogs."

_Little_ dogs, I thought, like puppies, how tenderly he regards us! He is not like most Jews, who might be inclined to view us with naught but disdain.

I had a small, particularly frayed, shawl which I'd been wearing when I fled the house, and this I pulled tighter around myself as I said, "Yes, Sir, and yet the little dogs underneath the table eat of the crumbs of the little children."

Jesus smiled. "Great is your faith. Because of saying this, go; the demon has gone out of your daughter; let it happen as you wish.

"Oh, thank you! Thank you!" But I could not stay a moment longer. I needed to get home to my daughter.

Along the way, in my eagerness, I tripped twice, landing on my face. And yet, I stood up, nearly laughing, for I was too joyful to pay another bruise or scraped knee much serious mind.

When I finally reached home again, I found my guest waiting at my daughter's bedside. Perhaps she had been curious to see if my speaking to Jesus would have any effect.

My daughter's breathing was normal. So sweet a sound! And her eyelids crinkled as she came to, opening them.

I saw at once what she was sound of mind and safe from that horrible demon.

She blinked and sat up. "Mama?"

"Yes, my child, it is I! I've come back." I bent down and threw my arms around her, holding her close to me.

And from that hour on, my daughter was completely healed, no longer plagued. The demon had gone out, never to return.

**AN: Comments? Reviews welcome. **


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